Primrose's Odds
by Fancyclopedia
Summary: Katniss was a bit older, and died in the mine explosion with her father. Fifteen-year-old Prim does not hunt, but she gathers herbs and runs an apothecary shop with her mother. Mrs. Everdeen is emotionally unstable and slips in and out of reality, sometimes leaving Prim on her own for weeks on end. Prim does her best to deal with this, but of course, things go terribly wrong.
1. Prim

I wake up early on the reaping day. Swift and silent, I tug on the dark leather boots that belonged to Katniss. As I duck out the door, I shrug into my father's wool coat. It's too big for me to fill, but it keeps me warm on these early morning excursions. Sprinting through the slumbering streets of District 12, I can't help but feel helpless. Here we are - or, I should say, here they are – sleeping in and enjoying the holiday, when in a few hours at least two of us will be sentenced to death. I learned three years ago that I couldn't sleep the night before reaping day. Unlike so many others, I can't accept that everything could be gone in a matter of hours. That's when I started sneaking out at night. At first I would just go to the very edge of the fence and gather herbs for the apothecary shop, but then I grew bolder- or maybe just more careless- and ducked through the harmless fence to the forest. It's always hard to leave the forest. Everything there is so peaceful, but at the same time it's wild and free.

I always go the farthest on reaping day. Especially this time when my name has been entered more times than I like to think about, and it seems like I have nothing to lose. Shot for trespassing, selected for the Games- at least with one I will get the opportunity to die with my loved ones. Today I make my way as far as I dare, making sure that I will be able to return home before the district awakens. _The lake. _The lake. The lake is a safe place for me; always has been. At the lake I feel close to my sister, Katniss. It's silly, but here all around me the Katniss tubers that she was named for aim their arrow-shaped leaves towards the skies, and I like to think that even in death she is helping us survive every time I bring home the tubers for dinner. Mom never eats when we have Katniss. Still, Katniss wouldn't want us to starve on her behalf. I can't help but smirk as I think of Katniss eating. Every time we had any kind of extra food she would gulp it down ravenously. _But not, _I think, _until after she made sure I had eaten my fill. _She always looked out for me. Even now she looks out for me and Mom, because tonight we will eat her tubers for dinner. As long as Katniss is around, we'll never starve.

I pull up some tubers, then move on to some herbs for the shop. I strip the bark from pine trees to help soothe colds, collect calendula for burns and stings, pick mint leaves for stomach cramps, and even stumble across some oregano that will help with the headaches that come from a long day in a mine. All too soon, the sun is rising, and I have to go back. Every year, this gets harder. I don't want to go back. _I could escape, _I think, and I know it's true. The capitol wouldn't even care about one 15-year-old girl, and I could probably spend the rest of my days free from the Games and District 12. But I could never take my mother. She's too fragile, too weak. She wouldn't last 5 days in the woods, and besides, we'd have nowhere to run to. With a heavy sigh, I shoulder my bag, now weighted with herbs, and begin the jog back home.


	2. Tessarae Pancakes

I crack open the door and slip into the house. Stashing the herb bag in a cabinet, I tiptoe back to my room and hide my dirty clothes. I cringe as I see the collared blue dress lying on the foot of my bed. _I should be grateful…But it feels so _fake. The dress was originally my mother's, and is made of valuable imported fabric from District 8.

Katniss wore this dress to her Reapings.

Whenever Katniss wore the dress, I told her she looked like a princess. She did too, a strong, brave princess, who would never let her sister down, never abandon her family. The sky blue fabric brought out her eyes and complemented her long, winding chestnut hair. She would smile at me then, and tell me that she wished she could be a princess like me. She'd pick me up and spin me around. "I will always be here for you."

The mines made a liar out of Katniss in the end.

I fall back asleep for a few hours, and when I come out again, my mother is making pancakes. I can smell the hot thick cakes frying, delicious even though they are made from the coarse tesserae grain.

"Good morning Mom," I say, trying to hide my surprise at seeing her up and active.

She turns away from the stove and offers me a weak smile and a brief nod. Apparently, her only living daughter does not warrant actual conversation. I miss when she would talk to me. Before the mining accident, she would laugh, and her blue eyes would sparkle all day long. Now I feel lucky to get the nod and halfhearted smile. _Why does she shut me out? _I could help her. We could help each other. I get so lonely running the apothecary shop alone, and since I dropped out of school I haven't made any friends. I promise myself, _by next reaping I won't be alone._ If I survive that long.

Pushing aside my morbid thoughts, I plunk down in one of the rickety chairs surrounding our wobbly kitchen table. My mom wordlessly slides a wide, thick cake onto my plate, and I can tell it's a special occasion because the pancake glistens with golden goat butter. I can only choke down half of it, but feel bad for wasting the treat.

I glance up at my mother who has also sat down with a decidedly small pancake. I begin to walk away coolly, but I can't do that today. I smile at her. "Thank you for breakfast." She just nods again, but as I leave the room, I notice a little more conviction in her smile. Happy Reaping Day.

On Reaping Day, we bathe. I carry water in from the pump and my mother heats it on the stove- electrified especially for the Reaping. Down from the attic I drag our ancient dented tub and pour the steaming pails in. _Ahhhhhh. _The water burns my skin, but it's a nice burn that takes away the grime and fear that always seems to be built in to my body. I comb through my knotted blonde hair with my fingers and grimace at the snarls. I'm about ready to give up and go to the Reaping with my hair in a tangle when mom comes in with a real comb. Swiftly she sweeps through my unruly mane, taming it in an instant and deftly plaiting it behind my head.

"Thank you mother," I say as I step out of the bath. Again, I receive only a curt nod, but I've learned not to expect much more. _Now for the dress. _Ugh.

Where on Katniss the dress flattered and complemented, on me it only hangs shapelessly. I'm grateful our house has no mirrors, because at this point I don't really want to know. My own imagination fills in most of the details, and I have no desire to confirm them.

Still, my mother bursts into tears when she sees me. "Beautiful," she whispers, and I gasp. It's the first time I've heard her speak in more than 4 months, and a part of me was wondering whether she'd ever speak again. She isn't looking too poorly herself today, when she's bathed and wearing one of her nice dresses from when she was rich she can actually be beautiful. I know that this is just a shell, a façade for the Reaping, but I imagine for a moment that this is my real mom. She is beautiful, and tells me I'm beautiful. She makes me breakfast and fixes my hair. I shake my head. Welcome to the real world, Prim.

Mom opens the door, and together we walk out of the house to the square for the Reaping.


	3. No One is Safe

The square is packed with my neighbors. Anxiety, stress, fear, and defeat course through the crowd in brief surges _like the electricity to our house_ I think, but even that is a lie today, because for the next month we will have power 12 hours a day almost every day. All thanks to the "wonderful wonderful" games! In the crowd, I see Rory Hawthorne. He's always so nice to me, and for a while we were always together because his brother Gale died in the same mining accident that took Katniss and my father. I wave, and flash a sad smile in his direction, but he doesn't see me. _Poor Rory has siblings to worry about today. _I shudder, grateful to be the youngest. Getting selected would be bad enough, but to have to watch your siblings murdered on tv would be an even worse nightmare.

White armored PeaceKeepers herd is towards registration tables where each gives a blood sample. I am long past the days when I winced at the needle- the sight of blood hasn't bothered me in years. I press my throbbing finger to the paper, and move on. "It's okay," Katniss would say, "It only hurts a little, not a lot. "

The day is cold for a Reaping, and the sky is stained gray like coal dust. Like everything in District 12, it has been coated in the miserable color of the mines. I used to dream of flying, thinking that if I flew high enough, I could leave 12, and find a land where there was color and safety. A warm, safe meadow, where sisters didn't leave home and never return. Where fathers were always there for their children and mothers didn't shut out their daughters. In the dream, every time I tried to land there I would wake up again, rejected, and sent back to the misery of District 12.

"Hello District 12!" A woman with neon hair sweeps onto the stage, addressing us like she is a celebrity and we are her most devoted fans. _Effie_. I smirk. Even today I can't help but laugh at the "fashion" from the Capitol. Effie wears a short-skirted dress, coated in short white feathers. Around her neck hangs a golden medallion shaped like a bird's beak. She looks like a goose.

"Happy Hunger Games District 12!" Her shrill voice pierces our terrified atmosphere, peeling back the scab so we all have to face the pain; the Reaping has begun.

No one is safe.

* * *

Effie's greeting echoes around the square, drawing us into the surreal moment of the Reaping.

"This year," she begins, "is a very very special Games!" Every sentence ends like it's the most exciting thing she could possibly imagine. "As I'm sure you know, this is the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games, which makes it a Quarter Quell!" She squeals with excitement, and lets her announcement sink in.

No one in the crowd is nearly as excited to hear this as Effie is. Quells are bad. Last Quarter Quell, they took twice the number of tributes from each district, and everyone in my mother's generation knew personally someone who was taken. Interestingly, a tribute from District 12 won those games, bringing wealth and surplus to our District for an entire year. Haymitch, I think his name was. I can't imagine how horrible that would be, returning as one in four, maybe he even killed one of the others from 12. No wonder he drank himself to death.

Effie is speaking again, but the blood rushing in my ears is too loud and I don't care anymore about what she has to say. My name is in that bowl too many times. I can't get picked on a quell year. I can't get picked. I. Can't. Get. Picked. It's all I can do to stay steady. Around me, I can see that others are thinking along similar lines, and the girl two people down has actually burst into tears.

"...Top secret!" Effie is shrieking. "I know you are probably just as excited as I am to find out what the special Quell will be for this year, but the President is refusing to tell anyone but the game makers!" /Why would they keep it secret? Won't it have some effect on the reaping?/ Apparently not, because now Effie is starting the same film we watch every year preceding the name drawing.

"13 prosperous Districts," the film intones, "united by a glorious Capitol." The words are very familiar, I've heard them every year of my life at the Reaping. I could mouth right along with this, but I'm in no mood to joke. My pulse increases and my breaths become shallow. I look down and realize that my knees are shaking, but I force them to stop. /Do. Not. Look. Weak. / I admonish myself. /Look around,/ I am surrounded by a few hundred of my peers. School friends, people who have come to the apothecary shop seeking help, neighbors, and people who worked with Katniss and my father. The odds of my name being drawn have to be tiny. There's no way.

Still, I am lightheaded as Effie steps over behind the bowls with all of our names. Her voice darkens, "May the odds be ever in your favor." The sobriety doesn't last, however, and her voice is as chipper as ever when she announces, "Ladies first!"

Elegantly, her hand flutters among the slips. Toying with all of our fates, knowing that we are all utterly under the control of her one idiotically fluttering hands. She pounces. One single, folded strip of white paper. A single name. It could be anyone.

The odds aren't in anyone's favor.


	4. Ravenous Hands

I can hear fate cackling. These next few seconds will at the very least ruin (and most likely end) someone's life. Effie is drawing this moment out, painstakingly slowly unfolding the slip as she solemnly steps up to the microphone. She taps the mic once, and the sound rings out, reverberating over our bated breaths.

"Primrose Everdeen."

Nothing is real. I am floating

Falling

No

No

no.

People around me avert their eyes. They don't want me to see the relief in their eyes. They pity me, but at the same time are so grateful that they and their families are spared. So grateful. So sorry. An instant ago I was one of them: a chance, a statistic. Now I am outcast. Alone and condemned. I will never return to District 12.

But I have to be brave. Unfeeling. There is no one who would volunteer to take my place on this day.

I walk up to join Effie on the stage.

I am going to die.

Everyone stares, but no one dares to meet my eyes. At 15 years old, I am still young to be going to my death- and there is no doubt in anyone's mind that I am going to die. I will never again sneak out to gather herbs in the woods. Never again swim in the Katniss pond, never share a smile with Rory, never heal a patient out of the apothecary shop, never, never, nevernevernevernever. My life is over. There are so many things I have lost, but I don't even get a chance to mourn myself. My has broken the tension- half the crowd is now safe for another year. Some who are 18 have escaped the Games forever. Still, my death isn't enough for the bloodthirsty Capitol, and Effie's hands ravenously snatch up an name from the boy's bowl. She reads the name like it's delicious. A treat for her to enjoy slowly as she watches us murdered on television.

"Awren Santo."

My own self-pity vanishes as I watch Awren step up to the stage. He is twelve. Twelve years old and condemned. How can I possibly feel bad for myself when I have gotten three more years than him? I force myself to look over at him, and see the slightest relief bloom behind his terrified eyes as he sees me. I can tell that he is trying to appear brave, but his hands are shaking violently. My own lips are trembling, but I can't cry here.

"Your tributes," Effie is saying warmly. She steps behind the two of us, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. Her false fingernails dig into my back and I cringe. Apparently disappointed by the lack of applause, Effie brings her hands together in a delicate little clap. No one joins her.

They never do. They only stand there, in silence. In relief that they have survived, in shame that a twelve year old is going to die in their place, in horror that they themselves could so easily be standing in my place. Discouraged by their lack of enthusiasm, Effie says goodbye to the crowd and steers us around into the Justice building. Presumably our loved ones will now come and say their goodbyes. I wonder if my mother will have the strength to come. I wonder if she even cares.

_It would probably be better for both of us if she doesn't come._ I don't really mean it though. All I want is for my old mom (from before the mining accident) to come and hold me in her arms. Tell me it's going to be okay, and that she won't let them take me. These kinds of fantasies will only make it harder for me in the end.


	5. Visitors

As soon as we enter the Justice building, Awren bursts into tears. Not that I can blame him, it's taking all of my willpower to not do the same. But I can't cry for myself knowing that he has it so much worse. Maybe in the games I could protect him. Not that either one of us stands a chance, but maybe I could buy him a few hours to make up for the years he has been robbed of.

_One last person to cure, I guess_.

The prospect gives me hope; maybe I won't be completely useless in the Games. _After all_, I reason, _I have read almost all of the old medicine books, even the ones with plants from other districts! _Suddenly, I am getting excited. Last year, the games took place in a forest not unlike the one beyond the border of District 12 where I go to gather herbs. Perhaps, with luck, I could be placed in an environment where I could survive off the foliage.

A peacekeeper guides me into a small room in the back of the Justice building. Beside me, I can see Awren being pushed into a similar room. Tears stream down his child's face, and I do my best to give him a heartening smile. I don't think I could convince anyone to feel hopeful in this situation.

The door shuts behind me, but then almost immediately opens again. It is Rory, he has come to say goodbye to me. Awkwardly, he stands in the doorway and wrings his hands. "I'm so sorry Prim." It's a simple sentiment, but I can't help it. The sight of my only friend looking at me like I'm already dead makes me burst into tears. Rory looks torn, like he is unsure as to whether he should comfort me, but the Peacekeepers make up his mind for him. They drag him out of the room and I don't even get to say goodbye.

As the door shuts behind him, the weight of my situation becomes so real upon my shoulders that I crumple to the ground. I can't. I CAN'T. This can't happen to me I have a mother and a job and a friend and a life. Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhy. This is looping through my mind as the sobs wrack my body. I am melting into the floor.

The door opens. I don't care. It's probably the peacekeepers come to tell me that no one else wants to see me, no one cares. _Let them drag me away kicking and screaming, see if I care. I'm screwed anyways, no point in acting like I don't know it._ But the peacekeeper kneels beside me and speaks with my mother's voice. She gathers me up in her arms and holds me close to her, softly running her fingers through my hair and mumbling comforting falsehoods to me.

"I will not leave you."

That's a lie. In less than 20 minutes I will be on a train ride faster than anything else in the world to the Capitol. I will never see my mother again. But she stays with me. Past when I am sure the five minutes allotted for visitation is past. Could what she said be true? It appears to be, because the peacekeepers are now ushering both of us out behind the Justice Building to an awaiting train.

Softly, my mother whispers, "They're letting us come with you to the Capitol for the Quell." Sure enough, Awren and his father are visible as silhouettes already on the train. Warmth and fear churn through my body, waging a war between hope and doubt. _They wouldn't let the parents come unless they had some ulterior motive. This is only going to make it more painful for you in the end._ But right now, having my mother with me is all I want. I can't think about the horrors of the future because the present is too overwhelming as it is. In no hurry to leave my home, I climb the carpeted step onto the glistening silver train. With my mother right behind me, I don't know what to think. She places a hand on my shoulder, and the cocktail of emotions settles in my gut. We board the train, and leave District 12 forever.


	6. Word Play

There is a buzzing in my ear that sounds an awful lot like Effie's voice. I can't make out a word it says over the sound of the whirlwind in my mind, but I obediently trot along behind the feathered woman as she shows me and Awren the train. Awren walked slowly at first, trudging along in a melancholy haze. So I waited, and grabbed his hand. This time I think my encouraging smile was slightly more successful, but he did not return it. The grim look in his eyes was that of a terrified child who has steeled himself against all emotions. Still, he did not push away my hand, and so we walk behind Effie together now. _Two terrified tributes from twelve tentatively tail Trinket through the train._ I smirk at my word play and lean down to whisper this to Awren. With an obvious struggle, the corners of his mouth turn up for probably the first time all day.

I wonder if he laughed a lot before, if he had friends who will now watch his death on live TV. Both of our smiles fade fast, but this is probably for the best given that we have apparently reached the end of our tour.

My mother and his father sit at a table together in a lavishly decorated dining car. I stagger a bit under the luxury and wealth spared on a single room on a single vehicle. The amount of money spent decorating this room could probably feed all of District 12 for years. In the center of the room, there is an ornate chandelier, dripping tinkling diamonds towards the wide table. I resist the urge to fling myself upon the lush couches lining either side of a fireplace at the rear of the car.

The walls are papered with the symbols of the districts. I can see the helmet of District 12, the crossed axes for 7, a fishing hook for 4, and a needle and thread for 8. All the symbols circle around the enormous emblem of our capitol. The eagle spreads its powerful wings, engulfing all of the districts with its radiance and strength. _And stealing their children, destroying their families, and watching them starve._

"I just love that your parents are here this year," Effie gushes. "It's like a super-exclusive backstage pass to the home lives of our tributes!" Awren's hand tenses in mine, and I fight the temptation to ball my own free hand into a fist. _How can you say that? _I want to scream. _We are going to die- two innocent kids, and we are about to go be murdered by other children while our families and friends watch on television. We are about to be murdered, and you are excited that you get insider information on our backstories? What kind of a sick and twisted world do you live in?_

"I'm sure you're excited to see the Capitol," squeals Effie. "I know I can't wait to get back. The Districts are a little… rustic for my tastes. The Capitol is fabulous though, all the skyscrapers and bright colors, nothing like that horrid brown and gray 12 is painted. All that coal dust… tsk tsk." She trails off in apparent disdain.

It takes every ounce of self-control that I possess to not lunge at her, to resist slapping the condescending grimace from her unnaturally pale face. Beside me, Awren is about ready to murder Effie as well- _our first kill of the Games! _ I look up though, and see my mother is staring straight at me. Ever-so-slightly, she shakes her head at me, _no._ I relax a bit. _What am I thinking? Get a grip Primrose, or you won't even survive to the start of the games. _Now is not the time to pick a fight, and Effie Trinket is certainly not the person to pick a fight with. I can't let her ignorance get to me. I try to squeeze Awren's hand reassuringly, but he is having none of that. He jerks his hand away from mine and scowls at Effie. I notice that his father is doing nothing to calm his son down.

Apparently not noticing that anything has gone wrong –_or maybe she just chooses not to _– Effie claps her hands together and ushers us over to the table. I run my fingers over the dark, smooth wood, and Effie nods approvingly. "Lovely, isn't it? Such a pity mahogany is extinct." I stop admiring the table, determined to not admire anything Effie considers worthwhile. Still, I can't help but gasp when the red-clad servers bring us our luncheon. It's more food than I've ever seen at one time, and even the rolls look like they would cost a week's budget back in 12. It's a good thing the table is so well-crafted, otherwise it might buckle under the weight of the meal. All of us- except Effie, of course, who delicately accepts only a small bowl of a lavender-colored soup- heap our plates with generous helpings of everything. A strange pink fruit with long green tendrils, small fried creatures with eight legs, and a square of fine white bread covered with a red sauce and melted cheese all prove to be delicious, if strange. I am just digging in to a dessert of an enormous pastry Effie calls a "lava cake" when Awren stands up from his chair. He looks around at each of us, as if daring us to challenge his right to stand, then says in a cracking voice, "We need to talk."


	7. The Right to a Fight

We all stare at Awren. He clears his throat, but in doing so, loses the edge of surprise he had on us, and already Effie is rolling her eyes and opening her mouth-"No." I say, shocking everyone except perhaps my mother. "Let him talk. He deserves a chance to speak, and we have to be able to communicate if there will be any chance of either of us even surviving past the first night."

Gratitude shines from his eyes, and a little bit of anxiousness eases from his face. _He could have been a leader,_ I think sadly. There's no chance for either of us to reach our full potential now. Even if by some miracle I did get Awren out of the Games alive, he would be scarred by the brutal deaths of the other tributes.

"I am twelve," Awren says, "and Primrose is only fifteen. We are young for tributes, but I don't, no. I can't go in there knowing we're already dead. I want to at least feel like I have a chance of coming back home, because if I go in there defeated then the Games win. We all know a career tribute will win, but I need us to try as hard as we can before we go down. Otherwise..."

He gulps, and trails off. It has taken a lot for him to say what he has, but the twelve-year-old cannot force himself to continue in his speech.

"I agree." I am startled to find myself saying. "Even though we are small, surely we have some useful skills? I know almost every medicinal plant we could possibly come across, and I am fast."

My mother is staring at me with so much sadness in her eyes, and I know that to her I am already lost. All those promises she made earlier are gone, and now I am a helpless child without a chance. Her baby thrown to the wolves, and she can only watch from a distance as I am torn apart. Both of us know I'm as good as dead, but I'm not ready to know that she knows that yet. I need her to believe in me, even if I can only let her down in the end.

Luckily, Awren is again encouraged by my speech, and chirps up again. "I'm pretty fast too!" _Only because you're so small._ "And I'm a good hider! I can walk quietly..." He rattles off a list of "survival skills" and I realize just how lost our cause is. The only skills he can think of are defensive-neither one of us can do anything offensive, and most of our abilities come from schoolyard games.

Still, I look up, and tears are streaming down Effie's face. She clasps her hands together, and sobs, "Of course! It's not fair that the two of you are so much younger than the rest, and sometimes I myself have questioned the inclusion of such a wide spectrum of ages... But of course! Of course we will prepare you as best we can, and by the glorious Capitol, I bet the two of you will be able to hold your own just fine!"

"No."

This time, it is not I who has spoken up, but my previously mute mother. She stands and looks Effie directly in the eye. "You will not make my daughter into a killer."

"Would you rather she just died?" Awren's soft spoken father comes to my rescue.

Fury blossoms behind my mother's eyes, and she slaps him across his gray cheek. "Don't you dare talk to me about my own daughter like that. You of all people should understand what it's like right now. You should understand that my child is being taken from me. I won't let you make her a killer too. I won't!" She glares around the room fiercely, daring someone to challenge her.

Then she is crying. Dissolving into horrible, body-wracking sobs in front of three complete strangers. She's breaking again, and this time I won't stand by and let it happen. She can't check out and leave me now.

"Stop it Mom, just stop it. You can't do this again. When," I correct myself for her sake, "If I die, you can't just leave again because there will be no one left to take care of you. And if both of us died, that would be letting the Hunger Games beat our family. You. Can't. Let. It. Do. That."

The look my mother gives me has five years of pain etched across her face. I can see the grief from my father's and Katniss's accident there, and I feel awful for what I have said. She has gone through so much..._ But so have I._ Even though I long to run and comfort her, I can't.

This is just the way things are.


	8. Livin La Vida

My mother and I share a room on the train that is probably simple by the Capitol's standards. To one side there is a pair of stacked beds, and on the other there is a small table framed by a large curtained window overlooking the country. It is absolutely breathtaking. In just two days (this the third being our last day on the Effie-Express as I have come to think of it) we have pressed past vast lakes, through towering mountains, out over plains and down through valleys.

Effie told me that this is not all. That if we took another pathway, we might see vast expanses of desert (a hot, sandy wasteland, she had explained) or the unfathomably huge ocean, teeming with life and filled with saltwater. I want to see it all.

_That's what Awren and I will do when we are victors. _I chuckle at my own feeble lie, but in reality I am clinging to this impossible dream._ We will tour Panem from sea to glistening sea._

I am lying flat on my bed pondering this, when my mother enters. We haven't spoken much since the incident at dinner the other day, as I have been eating after the rest of them finish so I don't have to see their resignation to a fate that belongs to me. "Primrose," she begins. She looks so tired, and there is a dullness behind her eyes where she has already lost hope in me.

"Don't." I snap. "Just don't." I can't handle hearing what she might say.

She opens her mouth again, but then slowly shuts it, her head crumpling inwards to brush her chest. I want nothing more than to hold her, to let her hold me, but neither of us can afford to be babied right now. The Capitol demands that we be strong or die.

And I am not one to back down from a fight.

* * *

When the train pulls into the Capitol, I think that something has gone wrong with the train. It sounds like a hive of tracker jackers has been unleashed upon the train- a rising buzz that drones in my ears and penetrates the peace. I rise from the chair where I have been sitting dreaming, and slowly move to the window. I open the curtains a tiny crack, and peek out.

I am blinded.

The train is caught in a beam of light, refracting in a thousand dazzling rays in every direction. The train has driven straight into the sun itself, and we are about to burn up in the celestial glory. The train has crashed, and I have died in a bath of blinding white.

The train has reached the Capitol.

Huge silver spires grasp at the heavens, vast neon domes crouch lower, dominating the land area. Snakes of black road wind around everything, and it appears that the stories were correct about the gold-paved sidewalks. Twisted dancers of buildings weave in on every open space, glimmering in every shade of a rainbow. It's a paradise, a haven of beauty and safety. _But the noise?_ I look all around me, but cannot locate its source. I look down.

"Holy_ shit_! Prim look out your window!"

"I am looking Awren, I can't believe it though." _Are they here for us?_ Never have I imagined that this many people could exist in the whole world, much less in only one small stretch of earth. Thousands of bodies press up against the train; a mob surrounding us like ants clustered around a dropped piece of bread.

At first sight, they don't look human. These Capitol-dwellers are aliens with warped faces and unnatural coloring. I see a woman with pink hair like Effie, and smile._ They must be sisters!_

Seeing my smirk, the crowd cheers. Like excited children, they chant for my district, "Twe-elve! Twe-elve!" I can't help but to smile back even more at their enthusiasm.

"Awren! Come in here with me!" Suddenly, a strategic part of my brain has switched on. _These will be sponsors in the arena. It's probably best if Awren and I look like we're friends. _If I'm honest with myself however, I know that I really just want to have someone here with me.

Awren does not seem to be enjoying the crowd's attention, however, and enters the room scowling. Disgust is scrawled all over his young face, and in a moment of clarity I am appalled at how easily I have been sucked in to their game. I forgot too quickly that these people will be watching, _and probably cheering,_ as Awren and I lose our lives.

As soon as I let this horror display on my face, Awren takes my hand and squeezes it once. I look down, and he has plastered on a fake cheery smile. "You were right," he mouths over the roar. "We need to look happy and lovable."

It makes me feel sick to my stomach to smile again, but the crowd goes nuts seeing us together and smiling. We return some of their waves, and I even blow a few kisses at no one in particular. It seems to take forever, but eventually the train escapes the throngs of people and pulls to a stop.

Effie bursts into our car, "Well well! You two are already professionals at this! EVERYONE is talking about the adorable little pair from District 12, and I think you've garnered quite a lot of support already!" She looks down at us full of excitement and pride. Bending down, she pulls us into a tight, perfumed hug. As she trots out of the room on her 6-inch maroon stilettos, I can hear her whisper, "Maybe next year I will be promoted to a _decent _district!"

I feel all knotted up inside, but I won't let myself cry in front of Awren. _How could I have gotten caught up in the madness so quickly? This is my life on the line!_ I am furious at my own weakness, and vow to keep aloof of the bloodthirsty Capitol citizens from here on out. _After all,_ I think grimly, _you can't rely on Awren to bring you back to your senses in the Games._ To protect Awren, I have to be responsible enough for the two of us.


	9. Sequined Stilettos

The train ride was a time of leisure, but according to Effie, now that we have arrived in the Capitol, it will be "busy busy busy days!" until the games start. She explains that we will have a schedule packed with training, interviews, and strategy meetings. "We're a team!" she squeals. Awren and I do not share her enthusiasm.

However, she was dead on about how busy we will be. The second we get off of the train I am whisked away by a glittering purple and red cloud which is later revealed to be my prep team. All of them have long fluffy names spoken in an accent I can't understand. _Not that it matters anyways, _I think, _by this time next year I will be dead and they'll be fawning over some other poor girl from 12._ The two Capitol citizens who have been assigned the task of preparing my body for the games might be comical if I didn't have to endure their company. At the moment, they are obnoxious; clucking and tutting around me like a pair of curious pigeons. Every time I open my mouth to speak, they both shriek with delight at my accent, and a warp-faced woman with spiked purple and black hair is constantly patting my head. I am smothered with shallow questions about my life in 12, and pelted with meaningless tales of parties and fashion atrocities committed by people who I don't know and will never meet.

"And her shoes!" wheezes Arturosious, a man with shoulder-length, red and black spotted hair, and a face tattooed with some sort of serpent. His partner who has identified herself as Isadinalia cackles at the memory.

"They…Were...HORRIBLE!" she shrieks. Suddenly somber, she looks at me and says, "Never, ever wear sequined stilettos, honey. Especially not with a floral gown. They make _everyone's _ankles look fat, and overall they're never as attractive in real life as they are online." Arturosious nods vigorously, as though this is a lesson that will be important to me.

"Hold on honey," warns Isadinalia, and she pastes strips of cloth to my legs. "This will sting a bit, but your legs are going to feel wonderful afterwards."

"I think this is the best part of the games," Arturosious says. "Watching you poor, unprivileged district children getting the makeover you deserve does my heart good. By the time the games start, I always think that half of you are quite beautiful! Of course, you have so much natural beauty for your stylist to work with… Just look at your hair! And those big beautiful eyes- good gracious they look like they cost a fortune!"

Arturosious rambles on, but I can't hear anything else. There is a pounding in my ears and rushes of blood to my face so that I can't hear, see, or feel anything other than my own fiery rage. It only intensifies when Isadinalia rips the clothes from my legs.

* * *

THREE. HOURS. LATER. and I am finally done with the prep team. Every inch of my body has been abused, and my arms and legs throb where they ripped out the hairs. I feel like I've been through the washboard, but Isadinalia and Arturosious insisted that this was nothing at all, and really nowhere near all that they would have liked to have done to me. _Thank goodness for impatient stylists. _Now, however, I wonder if I was better off with the prep team. _What if they're crazy? What if I end up naked for everything? _District 12 has never had good costumes what with the whole coal-miner theme, but there is definitely a spectrum of how bad they are. Some stylists don't even try, and just dress the tributes in embellished mining suits. Others have focused more on the pickaxe design- _now there was a humiliating entrance!_ More than once 12's tributes have shown up completely nude except for a light layer of black "coal" dust. I can only hope that my stylist is sane, although I am starting to wonder if anyone in the Capitol is. _They can't be worse than my prep team… _I think, but then he walks in.

"Primrose? Prim?" He asks, and his voice is soft and friendly. Unlike my prep team he seems to have opted out of facial cosmetic surgery, which makes him look like a real person. As far as I can tell, the only makeup he is wearing is a tiny streak of golden dust above each eye. _He could be okay. _

"Hi," I say, trying to make my voice sound flat and disdainful. I want this stylist to know that I don't buy into these games, and I don't respect the role he plays in them. "Are you my stylist?"

"Hey Prim," his greeting is warm and sincere, and I can't help liking this man, even though he exists only to dress me up before my slaughter. "My name is Cinna, and yeah, I'm your stylist. What can I do for you?"

This simple question catches me completely off guard.

_What can you do for me? How about you volunteer and die in my place? How about you start a boycott on the Games and get them cancelled? _ One thousand how-abouts dash through my mind, but I decide to voice only one. "Please don't make me go out there naked."

He laughs. It's a deep, rich laugh, not like Isadinalia's fake flutters.


	10. Rejecting the Excess

I stand in front of a mirror and realize that the impossible has happened: Cinna has made me beautiful.

I am dressed in a long dark gown that is so black I am afraid to look at it for too long lest my eyes burn out in the absence of light. The back laces up like my father's boots, which is good because there are no sleeves to hold it to my body. The dress hugs my hips and makes full breasts appear out of thin air on my chest. The best part of the whole gown though, I am told, is still to come. Cinna walks up to me and fiddles with a few things on the side of my dress. "You are going to stop their hearts with your gorgeousness." He assures me.

My arms are dusted with a shimmery coal-like powder, and my eye makeup is a dramatic raven black that curls across my cheekbones and makes my green eyes seem huge. I can't imagine what more there is to add to this get-up, but to be honest I'm having a hard time maintaining my aloofness to all of the glamour of the Capitol. _It's like a story where a girl is made beautiful by a magic spell,_ I think, and it's true. I've never seen myself dressed in anything this nice, and cleaned up I actually look nice. My hair is wavy and tousles down over my bare shoulders. I'm on cloud nine, despite the circumstances under which I have entered this situation. For at least this moment, I can forget the games and just lose myself in my own reflection. _My stars, I'm turning into a narcissist. _

"Show time Prim," Cinna sidles up beside me with an excited grin.

"What're you so happy about?" I ask.

"You'll see," he smirks. "Although I could ask you the same question."

"I know it's terrible to enjoy any part of the Games," I confess. "But I feel like this afternoon is a fairy story. It's all so magical with all of the fancy clothes and happy people."

Cinna looks down at me and smiles, even though his eyes are sad. "Prim, if you can, I want you to enjoy whatever you get with the rest of your life. I don't know how life was for you at home, but I promise the Games will destroy that even if you do make it back- and I also promise that I will do everything within my power to get you back home."

We have arrived at the line of chariots, and I see Awren waiting for me dressed in a dark suit that matches my dress. "Anyways," Cinna perks up at the sight of Awren. "It's time for your surprise!" He pulls out a paper thin tablet, and taps at a few places. "Oh-ho-ho!" Cinna is practically giggling with excitement. "Look at you Prim!"

I look down at my dress, and stumble backwards in shock. I gasp in and out, but the air won't come in my lungs like it should. "I'm, I'm, I'm…" _I'm on fire. _Veins of light flicker across my once-dull gown and I have to resist the urge to claw it off my body to save myself from burning. "What is this?" I can't believe that the spirals of light haven't scorched my skin.

"You're a coal erupting in flames," Cinna grins.

"Whoa," says Awren.

I say nothing else. I can't find the words to convey my amazement. All I can do is flash Cinna a nervous smile before climbing into the chariot with Awren. And together we tributes from District 12 ride out into the storm of thunderous applause.

* * *

Tonight at dinner, no one but Effie can speak. Awren and I make exhausted eye contact across the rich stews and glistening meats that line our table. My mother pecks at her meal like a baby bird, slowly shredding a roll into her beak. Mr. Santo responds to Effie's chatter with weary grunts and nods, and avoids looking at Awren. Apparently, Effie is completely oblivious to our inattentiveness, because she is going on and on describing every miniscule detail of her day and her life and the parade and the tributes and her week and our week and the games and and and. It's as if she subconsciously senses the lack of energy around the table and feels the need to supply all of the conversation herself.

_Sigh._ I can't take much more of this, so I excuse myself quickly after the meal has been served. Awren and his father follow, leaving the peculiar couple of my mute mother and the logorrheic Effie. Our home in the Capitol – Effie calls it a "penthouse" – is huge. There is a separate bedroom for each of us, and each bedroom has its own adjacent bathroom. There is a "media room" with a screen that stretches all the way across the wall, and is no thicker than the nail on my little finger. The dining room is massive and bright, with huge open windows all around, and several glittering light fixtures.

I can't stand the place.

Every inch of it seems so disgustingly ostentatious. It's over-the-top extravagant, and I am repulsed by the wastefulness in a land where people a mere train-ride away are shivering under thread-bare blankets at night. I want to tear it down and make the Capitol live a night like District 12. I want to take away the buttons that can order as much food as you want whenever, and stuff them in the garbage chute where so much is wasted. Here I have a closet full of clothes that are tailored to my body, and I will never even wear most of it. Here I can make the room warm by adjusting a lever on the wall – or better yet, I can call an Avox servant to do it for me so that I don't even have to move.

I could just lie in my bed forever. I wouldn't miss school or work, I wouldn't starve or freeze. I could just lie here in bed forever and nothing bad could ever happen.

I pull the covers up over my head and seethe through the thick blankets. _It's. So. Unfair. _How can someone in District 12 never eat themselves full, when people here can order banquets to be delivered to their rooms and send trays back half eaten. Suddenly I sit up, yanking the sheets off. I dash to the bathroom and retch and retch, unable to keep the excessive food down. It burns my throat, but I know it is good to get this poison out of my body. I look at myself in the mirror, and feel nothing but disgust as I notice my stomach expanding out to accommodate the meal I just ate._ How have you become like them so quickly? You're already fat on their stolen food. _I resolve to eat no more than I would have access to at home for the remainder of my life. _No point in dying looking like a fat pig._

* * *

**_Author's Note: Hey look I can actually add an author's note to my story! Haha what a noob. Anywho, sorry/not really sorry about the mood swings in this chapter. I loved writing about Prim's dress, but I had to make something dark for the chapter, right? So yeah, if anyone is actually still reading this, I apologize for the teenageryness. _**

_**On another note thank you to everyone who is reading this. Thank you twice to those of you who have followed/favorited this, and thank you thrice to those who decided to leave me a lovely review. Shout out to Danny Barefoot and Charliesunshine who decided to leave me two. I love all of you for reading this, and I hope that I don't screw up and make you all stop reading this.**_


	11. Early Risers

I wake myself up from a feverish sleep when the clock reads 4:47. According to the schedule Effie gave me, I have more than two hours left before I have to get up, but I know I won't be able to fall back asleep. I don't want to fall back asleep. Sleep means that I can't control the thoughts, and the horrible panicked nightmares can seize my mind. So I get up._ I'm going to go explore._

Since I haven't been expressly prohibited from leaving the penthouse, I figure that I can plead innocence if I get caught sneaking around. All the same, I ease open the door as quietly as I can so as not to disturb anyone. Unlike the rusted door of our house back in 12, this one swings open soundlessly. _I'll be back soon, _I think. _If I feel like it. _I can't see myself getting punished in any way that would matter, _what are they going to do? Kick me out of the Games? _

I slip out of the neon haze of the penthouse suite and into the cool, gray hallway. Directly across from our room is a sign directing me to the various attractions the building offers. There are Training Rooms on floor 1, but I am not interested in those- _I'll see them soon enough! _The trite Prep Rooms are on floor 3, the kitchens are on floor 2. Dormitories for us tributes are on floors 4-16. Because I am from District 12, we are on the top floor. I am about to go back into the penthouse to wait out the morning from within my cushy bed when I notice one final notation on the directory. _So there's a roof to this place?_

* * *

The steel doors of the elevator slide open and I tentatively step out into the morning fog. _Ah. _This is what I've missed. The fresh air, the real smells… There is even a small rooftop garden here, not unlike the one I keep at home. A glistening city skyline spreads before me, dangling the hope of a different life before my sleepy eyes. Buildings twice the size of anything in District 12 stretch their rooftops to the stars, and the vein-like roads shuttle early-morning commuters from place to place. _This is beautiful. _I drop my apprehensions at the elevator door, and lose myself in the secluded rooftop paradise. I take bold steps to the edge of the roof, further and further until I am challenging fate with my toes dangling off into the unknown. Jumping off becomes such a real possibility that I begin to plan my premature demise. _I couldn't do that to them. What would happen to my mother? What would happen to Awren? Would they have to go back to 12 and get another little girl? _Suddenly, suicide becomes the selfish choice. I have to stay. I have to stay with Awren, and my mother, and the people who need me.

With my revelation comes the sun, peeking over the tops of the majestic Capitol buildings. I am almost surprised to see that it is the same sun that rose each morning on the woods in District 12. Closing my eyes, I can pretend to be back there. Just another morning of herb gathering in the woods. I can nearly smell the earthy aromas, and hear the birds chirping sweet melodies. But then, I can't. The only smell is the manufactured smell of the city, and the only sound traffic. _This is no paradise, _I remind myself. _And this is not your home._

I step down off the edge of the roof. The wonder and magic allures of the roof have been stripped away with my fantasies of 12, and I am left feeling emptier and lonelier than ever. Still, I'm not quite ready to leave my solitude, so I sit on the roof and wait. For once in my life, I have time to kill. It's so peaceful. So serene in a surreal way, like the calm before the storm. _And I do believe the storm is nearly upon me._

* * *

I am back in the penthouse at a quarter to seven, but my absence has been noted. My mother is sitting at the table waiting for me.

"Where were you?" Fire blazes through her eyes, bringing life to her usually callous features.

"The roof," I reply. Coolly and calm-as-you-please, I step around her to move towards my room.

"I suppose you think you can do that," she challenges. I sense the danger in her tone and turn back to face her. She is trembling with rage, but tears are also pouring down her face. "You think that because you're a tribute you can just do whatever you like, that you can just run away to the roof and no one will care because you're as good as dead already! Don't you know what it does to me? Don't you know what it's like? I'm losing you Prim! I lost your father, and your sister, and now I'm losing you too, and it's _killing _me."

"No mom," I shake my head and turn away once more. "You never had me. You lost me when you abandoned me." _And you can never get me back. _


	12. One in Twenty Four

After a quick and tense breakfast, Awren and I are guided down to training. "Take advantage of this training area," Effie advises. "There are always some tributes who think they're too good for the training, but sometimes the gamemakers will provide training stations specific to skills you'll need in their particular arena." Awren and I both nod somberly- for once more than willing to listen to Effie's advice.

Entering the training room I receive a terrifying stare-down from the other tributes. I can see them sizing me up, assessing my strength, estimating my speed. Am I going to be a problem? _Probably not._ All the same, I do my best to meet their prying eyes with a fierce look. As Awren and I join the tributes already in the room, I also do some staring for myself. In the room are the tributes from 11, 10, 7, 8, and 4. We each have our district's symbol emblazoned on our training uniforms which makes it very easy for me to tell who's who.

The only two I get confused sometimes are 11 and 9, the two agricultural districts. Still, I'm pretty sure it's 11's tributes in the room due to their dark complexions. The stick thin couple looks just as terrified as I feel. The boy is slightly taller than the girl tribute, but they share the same sweet, open eyes. _They could be good allies if we all survive._ There's something about their faces that makes me trust them, and as they are also from an outlying district, I suspect that none of us will be asked to ally with the Careers.

The tributes from District 4 are short, but muscular. Their faces are tough and freckled, but they are smiling and joking with each other. The girl has long, thick brown hair that she's pulled back into a tight ponytail. It dives down her back as she tosses her head with laughter. I wish I was in a laughing mood, but I couldn't approach District 4 tributes- they're careers and wouldn't take me seriously.

8's tributes are lean and willowy, especially standing next to those from Districts 7 and 10. All four are very intimidating, but I find that those from 10 are scary mostly for their bulk. They look like they have tree trunks for limbs and wear crooked sneers as they glare around at the rest of us. _I wouldn't want to cross one of them. They look like they could crack my skull with their bare hands. _The girl and boy from District 7 are even more terrifying. They have lean muscular legs and incredible arms. _Probably got a lot of practice swinging axes. _

As I'm thinking, the boy from 7 looks at me and winks. He then turns to his fellow tribute from 7 and whispers something that earns a crackup from her. Humiliated, I steer my head towards the floor and avoid eye contact with the other tributes.

"Prim, look! Here come others!" Awren whispers furiously in my ear. I jolt up out of my embarrassment to gape at the door as it opens. Tributes enter in pairs leaving me to figure out who's from where. District 6's tributes are both short, and neither one looks particularly bright. The boy has shaggy dust-colored hair, and flashes me a crooked grin when he sees me looking at him.

Following the pair from 6, a gorgeous blonde girl strides in confidently with a similarly handsome brunette boy on her arm. She smiles around at those of us already assembled in the training room, but it's a poisoned smile, like a cake baked with rotted grain._ Definitely from 1, _I think.

Two quivering kids practically crawl in after them, wearing the tri-grain symbol of District 9. Following them comes a set of red haired beanpoles that have to be from district 3. There is a sharp look in the girl's eyes, and I somehow know that she's three steps ahead of all of us in her own mental Games. She stays under the Career's radar while managing to exude so much confidence I begin to think of her as the toughest competition here. _I hope someone kills her quick,_ I think, but then I realize what I just thought and feel sick again. _It's already manifested itself in my head! Get out! I want to die human._

The girl from District 5 is 12, the same age as Awren. In contrast, their boy tribute has to be 17, and he walks in holding her hand. As soon as they come in, she bursts into tears-_and who could blame her?_- and he kneels down to comfort her. He wraps her up in a strong hug, petting her back and saying in a quiet but firm voice that, "It will be okay. You will be okay. I will protect you."

When she has regained control, he stands again and glares around at the rest of us. She shrinks behind him, but not before I can notice that they share the same angular features. _Oh... I hope they aren't siblings... _Every now and then they will reap a boy and girl sibling pair, or cousin pair and force them to fight against each other. "The odds certainly aren't in this family's favor," they will joke on TV. Meanwhile a mother is separated from two of her children, and that hope that one of them will return is tainted with the knowledge that both of them can't return.

I turn to Awren, but he has already moved. Awren with his sweet young eyes and shy smile has walked over to this tear-stained girl and is holding her hand. Most surprisingly of all, her brother doesn't seem to mind Awren. In fact, the edge in his eyes has softened, and he looks like he might start crying too. As for me, I am standing alone now.

I don't want to seem clingy by following Awren, but what do I do? _Awren! You were supposed to stay with me! Now what am I supposed to say? Who do I befriend?_ I look around, and make desperate eye contact with the girl from 11. She gives me a small, hesitant smile, and I motions for me to come join her. Beaming with relief and gratitude, I nearly trip in my haste to cross the room.

"Hi," she says, blushing. "I'm Jace."

"I'm Prim," I say, but I want to say more. There are a thousand things I want to tell Jace: thank you, I'm sorry, help me. I am so lost and confused, it's like I'm a guppy that's been thrown into a shark tank. Jace has saved me for now, but I have a feeling that in the Games friendliness will not be common.

"It's okay," she says, and slips her hand into mine. I look up and meet her wide deep-brown eyes with my own. Her skin is the color of a crust of bread, or the bark of the fallen tree where my father once stashed his bow. There are creases by her eyes and mouth that betray her frequent smile, and her hair has been cornrow braided all the way to her hips. I also notice a thin pink scar that trails faintly from her mid-forehead to her ear. It's her eyes though, that stand out. They show so much trust and sadness.

"How old are you?" She whispers.

"Fifteen," I reply.

"Hey!" She exclaims. "That's the same age as Quin. I'm only a year older myself. "

At the mention of his name, Quin twists around to look at me. His eyes display blatant disgust unlike Jace's pitying ones.

"Jace," he sneers, "Don't consort with the enemy. She can't be your friend; you'll only end up dead at her feet."

I shudder and try to move away from the hateful words, but Jace only holds my hand more firmly within hers. "Don't let him scare you away," she tells me. "If I am going to die, I want to spend my last days with friends." Still, Quin's promise bounces about in my head, drilling into my heart. _You'll only end up dead at her feet._

Before I can dwell on it for long, however, the head trainer walks in. "Tributes!" She calls. Her voice is powerful and commands our attention. "Today, and for the next 3 days, you will be given the opportunity to level the playing field going into the games. You can train with a bow, learn to set traps, practice building fires, and get yourself into top physical condition before the games. If you want my advice, don't ignore the survival skills. The odds are not in the favor of a tribute who can't tell which plants are safe to eat and which aren't. But then, as one in twenty four, the odds aren't particularly in any of your favor. This is your chance to stack the odds for yourself. Use it wisely." She nods once at us, and we are turned loose into the training center.

"Where should we start?" Jace asks. "I mean, if you want to train with me... Would you? I guess... I mean, we could... Um..." She trails off awkwardly, blushing furiously. I look around the room, and then turn back to my newfound friend in this hell.

"Let's start there," I say, pointing to the plant identification station. I find myself unable to keep a small smile off my face as I continue, "I think I'll have a knack for that one."

* * *

**Loooong chapter guys, but I'm really pleased with it. I'm sorry if you hate the way I described all of the tributes, but it felt wrong to leave anyone out. More names and friendship/nonfriendships/possible romances(?) to come. **


	13. Will You Just Leave Me Alone?

Jace and I are masters at plant identification. The trainer manning the station quickly realizes that we are advanced students (Jace being from 11 has plant knowledge that matches if not surpasses my own) and starts showing us plants unique to certain districts. The way he talks about the different herbs is beautiful, like they're his children. He is familiar with them in an almost intimate sense. I could stay and listen to him all day, but Jace and I need to move on. There is no question now as to whether or not we will be allies in the arena, and we agree that we should be prepared to defend ourselves against both nature and the other tributes.

Awren has been spending his training time with the pair from District 5. The five of us meet up to practice with throwing knives -something that none of us have ever seen before- and I learn that the girl Awren ran to comfort is called Cynth. Her older brother, Daz, is tall and quiet. He's awkward with the throwing knives at first, but the fiery anger in his eyes and steely rage in his set lips makes him look like he's been throwing them all his life after a few minutes.

When Cynth's turn with a target comes, however, Daz refuses to let her try. She kicks and yells at him, screaming, "You want me to die! I'm going to die!" Then she runs from the room. After exchanging glances with Daz, Awren chases after her. _When did he get so close with this girl?_ I think, but I guess friendships form faster when you know that in two weeks at least one of you will be dead. I look over at Jace, and she raises half of her mouth in an expression that says, "What can you do?"

Quin has been off on his own for the training session, and I've watched the worry and hurt from his snapping at her evaporate off of Jace's face. Naturally, it's been replaced with more stress and ferocity caused by the training, but I can't imagine the load on her mind when he was constantly lecturing and looking down on her. _ Actually, I think I can_, I think bitterly. My argument with my mother a few hours earlier weighs on my heart. _She can't understand this. At least she'll get to go home when this is over._ But I don't know this for sure, do I? _Even if she does go home to 12, what kind of a life will it be? What if she leaves again but there's no one to take care of her?_

My panicked meltdown has me on the verge of furious tears when there's a boy's hand on my shoulder. "Awren?" I ask.

"Not quite," chants a baritone voice I'm not familiar with. I whirl around to face my comforter, mommy-issues temporarily forgotten. I find myself being spun dance-style into the arms of the boy from District 7. "Who's Awren?"

I don't answer right away. I'm too busy taking in this face that chose to pester me during training. Compared to Jace's wide, trusting eyes, this boy has narrow, gleaming sparks of mischief flanking his nose. His mouth tips up on one side in a malicious smirk. "He's... Um, he's the boy tribute from my district." Flustered, I locate him with Cynth learning how to make a fire and point.

The boy's smirk widens into a flashing grin with glinting, fang-like teeth. "That boy came from 12? They sure do breed 'em friendly in the Seam, don't they? Ain't many like that in District 7." He pulls me so that his lips are just outside my ear and whispers conspiratorially, "Between you and me, they don't have many girls as beautiful as you in 7 either."

"Will! Would you stop harassing the outlying districts and focus on training?" A harsh, mocking voice carries over and I am released.

"Right you are, Frid," he raises his hand in a smart salute (a gesture of respect and reverence that is only supposed to be made during the Panem Anthem), spins on his toes, and skips away. I am left baffled and even wearier than I was before.

"Prim?" Jace's voice washes over me, smoothing away the irritating boy from 7. I wish I could just sink into the floor and melt away. But I can't. So I turn to Jace, fake a friendly smile, and throw knives with such ferocity that the trainer walks by and tells me to "save it for the arena."

* * *

Training breaks at 12:30 for lunch I get the feeling that none of us are used to eating a noon meal, because no one looks ready to end training. Still, we dash up to our assigned floors and join our mentors for lunch. Guess who also eats with us? Our loving parents of course! _Or not so loving as the case may be._

As soon as we reach The Penthouse Awren runs to his father. _I wonder what the parents have been doing all day. _My fellow tribute is swept up into an enormous hug by his burly father, and proceeds to tell him everything about the morning. I can see the pain and sadness behind the pride and affection glistening in Mr. Santo's eyes. I look to my own mother for some sign of similar love, but all I get is the sight of the side of her head as she turns away from me. _It's a good thing I'm about to die,_ I think miserably, _because there's no way I could live with her for any longer._

For lunch, I am served a large cheesy flatbread with small coins of spiced meat tossed on top. This is accompanied by a large, leafy salad that includes many vegetables I've never seen or heard of before. It would be a great meal, except for the unrelenting and inescapable lack of acknowledgement I am receiving from my mother. _Better bundle up Prim! It's a chilly day in Mother-ville!_

As always, Effie makes up the bulk of the table chatter, but today Awren is uncharacteristically talkative. He tells them about Cynth and Daz, and how Daz just wants to protect Cynth but in doing so is making her miserable.

"And Prim made a friend too!" he is saying. Suddenly, all eyes are on me. _Even,_ I look up to check, _Yes, even my mother is looking up now._

"Her name's Jace." I say. Unlike Awren, I don't feel particularly close to anyone included in this pow-wow and don't want to start telling them anything personal. _When did Jace become personal?_ I wonder, but I guess that I have so little left to call my own at this point. Now that even my life belongs to the game makers, don't I deserve to keep a friend to myself?

"There was a boy too, though right? The one from... Uh, wasn't he from seven? I thought I saw you with him, right? Is he nice?" Awren can't leave me alone. I'm sure he means well, but right now I would face a thousand careers tributes just to get him to shut up.

Now however, I really have everyone's attention. "That was Will," I say, careful not to let anything that happened show in my answer. I am emotionless. "He's not a friend."

Effie looks disappointed. "District 7 is a very strong competitor in the Games!" she informs us. "You would do well to stay on their good side, young lady."

I let a sarcastic smirk settle on my face, but as Effie sees this, she pipes up again. "I'm not kidding. And especially with the boy tribute, this Will. A little romance is ALWAYS popular in the Games..."

I excuse myself, and go throw up my lunch.

* * *

**I tried to make it happy guys, but it's not a happy story. Expect future development with Prim's mother, and of course the budding training room romance ;) Thanks for the reviews y'all, I do my best to incorporate the things you guys are asking for, and if you're not seeing something, that's probably because you hit on something big, and it's coming soon. Lots of love! ~~~Fancyclopedia**


	14. Home Sweet Capitol

So far, life in the Capitol is not all that it's cracked up to be. They always make a big deal on TV about how the tributes get to spend "almost a whole week!" in the lap of luxury before they get killed, but really this isn't that great. There's unlimited food for us,_ Katniss would have loved that_, but it's too rich for my stomach that's used to bread and cheese. There are thick blankets and warm clothes, but what's the point when you can adjust the temperature with a screen inlayed in the wall? The beds are soft, but who can sleep? If there is anything we tributes have in common between our various ages, genders, and districts, it's that not a one of us has slept a wink since we were reaped- not even the Careers. You can see it in all of our faces, a mutual exhaustion reflected from terrified youth to youth. An inability to relax or rest. I'd take my shabby old house and empty cupboards over this any day.

After lunch, I am ready to go back to the training room. As I'm about to head out the door with Awren however, I am accosted by Effie. "Prim dear, weren't you listening? It's time for your one-on-one strategy lesson from me! We get the whole afternoon to get you all ready for your interviews and think of plans for when you're in the Games." The way she says it makes it sound like I should be excited. Like I should be thanking her and jumping for joy to be allowed to consult with her about what kind of a person I'm going to pretend to be for the Capitol audience. I can't even manage a weak smile. _Honestly, I have probably 3, maybe 4 days left. I don't exactly want to spend them with Effie._

What I really want to do is to bring Jace, Awren, Cynth, and Daz up to the roof in the morning to see the sun breathe life into the still Capitol air. We could run away to the roof and live forever in that perfect peace.

Free from the Games.

Free from our families.

Our districts.

Ourselves.

But no, I can't go chasing that fantasy because Effie is calling me and I'm walking into the spacious living room with its enormous screen and bright green, leather sofas. The walls in here are painted a deep shade of turquoise that I've never seen on anything natural. Effie perches on one of the sofas, her back as straight as a yardstick and her hands folded daintily in her lap. I do my best to mirror her posture so she'll think I'm trying. _I almost feel sorry for Effie,_ I am surprised to realize. _Year after year, getting to know a pair of tributes and then watching them die. _It's been 25 years since 12's last victor, and Effie doesn't look old enough to have been around for that_. How does she manage to keep going on every year?_

"It is hard," Effie whispers. I look up, startled, and she has leaned over so that she is looking straight into my eyes. I can see a familiar pain there, a hole carved out by loss and sadness. Effie is one of us, a tribute. She is different only in that it is her fate to come back each year, living through the horrors again and again.

"I'm sorry, Effie." I choke.

"Nonsense, dear." She chirps. "You have nothing and no one to be sorry for, except yourself. There's a reason why I am doing your session before Awren's, and that's because I have been looking forward to yours. You have a certain grace, a charm. People automatically like you on sight because you look trustworthy and innocent."

She sighs. "I'm not going to promise I can get you home alive. I will promise that I will do everything I can to keep you and Awren safe. And right now I need you to hear my advice and take it if you want to live past the first day."

I am speechless. This is a side of Effie I never could have imagined. In fact, I'm almost disappointed that I'm not getting a dose of enthusiasm from her. The sad and defiant woman before me is still that same Effie, I realize, but she's not masking the hurt anymore.

"Thank you." I whisper, struggling to control my own sadness now.

She beams, putting the upbeat façade back into place for now. "You already have terrific posture, and I'm not worried about your etiquette as long as you can remember to be polite on stage. Manners are so important here in the Capitol. Of course for the interview you'll be playing a sweet-yet-strong young girl..." She trails off and looks at me apologetically. "Just because you're a bit shorter, and cute, dear. Not because I doubt your ferocity. The Capitol loves their pets, and if we can get you to survive the first few days, sponsorships will just pour in to protect the most loveable tributes. "

I nod. It's amazing how much strategy goes into the pre-Games training period. It's also amazing that Effie is the master of manipulating this strategy. _Maybe there's something good that can come out of her Capitol-centered lifestyle- she can play the audience for anything._

"Cesar Flickerman is a good man," Effie says with a smile. "He knows how to ask the questions that you want to answer, and when you're out there for your interview, he'll treat you like an old friend. The trick is making sure you are ready to make yourself look good." Here she pauses and looks sharply down her nose at me. "If you don't want to take the interview seriously as part of some sort of protest, I will respect you for your choice. However, I have never seen anyone who failed to win over the audience win the Games. Will you let me help you try?"

Again, I nod. I am finding it hard to find words now, now that I have been reminded that this is no game.

"Excellent! I have some practice questions. I'm sure he'll ask you about your home, and how you like the Capitol. Maybe about some friends... Easy things like that. How would you describe your home, Prim? Pretend Cesar has just asked you, "Do you miss home?"

_Yes!_ I think. _Every last raggedy bit of it._ I know that that is what I'll be expected to answer with. I am playing an innocent child, something I would have been better at just a few days earlier. _No,_ I interrupt my own thoughts. _That's not true. I haven't been really carefree and innocent since Katniss died. And even though this is awful, home wasn't all that much better. At least here I have friends, and people who look out for me._ Isn't that strange? Here, where I have been marked for slaughter I am feeling like I have a family for the first time since the accident.

Effie coughs, and looks at me expectantly, so I force myself to form an answer. _Remember Prim, keep it cute, and charm the audience. They don't want the truth, they want a happy story. _"Of course I miss home, Cesar, even though it wasn't much. My mom and I were so happy there…"

* * *

**A bit sentimental, but I had to make Effie cool. Sorry if you were hoping for some more tribute encounters, but I promise there will be plenty of those coming up ;) Thanks again to everyone who's following this, and for all of the lovely review- you are all the sweetest. ~Fancyclopedia**


	15. (Quell) Twist and Shout

_Fire licks at my heels as I clamber up the scorched tree. The forests of District 12 are on fire._ I just have to make it to the top. Just to the top and then I'll be safe. _But the fire is coming up faster than I can crawl. I look around wildly for a branch to pull myself up, but they're all just out of my reach. _I'll never make it. _Then, through the smoke-choked air, a glistening beacon of hope appears. I see my mother gripping the branch just above me. "Mom!" I scream. "Mom help me! Give me your hand, help!" _

_She doesn't respond. She just sits there, staring sadly off into space. The branch I am clinging to trembles, then snaps. I fall backwards into the flames, and the last thing I see is my mother finally turning her head. Her empty eyes take in my death, but she doesn't care. She has already accepted that I'm gone-_

* * *

Still shaken from my nightmare, I don't talk much at breakfast. I do manage a small smile for Effie, and even have a hug for Awren, but I can't even look my mother in the eye. My dream haunts me, and I can't shake the feeling that there was a good deal of validity to it. No one is chatty today, and I think I might not have been the only one whose sleep was interrupted by the fears of the day. I gulp down my portion of the meal, and leave the table early.

Awren is having a private session with Effie today, so I make my way down to the training room alone. This time, I am the first to arrive and at first I worry that I have accidentally gone into the wrong room. Not thirty seconds later, however, an unfamiliar pair of tributes walks in. Both are scowling, but I notice that there is another emotion being masked by the anger. _Hurt? Sadness? Fear? Loss. _The boy's eyes dart around as though looking for a fight. I realize that they were not present for yesterday's morning training, and after recalling some memories I realize that they must be from District 2. _Why skip training?_ I wonder. _Even for the Careers…training is important for ally selection if nothing else. _

The girl tribute turns to me and rolls her eyes. She is probably a year or two older than me, but only about a half inch taller. Her unrestrained chestnut hair falls in tiny ringlets down her shoulders, and her skin has an olive complexion. I guess my expression betrayed my thoughts, because she answers exactly what was on my mind. "We just got here last night," she says to me, her voice dripping with annoyance. "Our reaping was… delayed."

_Delayed? How can that happen? _Everything about the Games is so meticulously organized, I find it hard to believe that a whole district's reaping could have been delayed.

My skepticism must show on my face, because she rolls her eyes again and continues in a whisper, "We rioted."

I feel like laughing. She's clearly pulling my leg_. There's no way 2 would ever riot. They're practically the Capitol's pets!_ I want to ask this girl why her District would riot to see if I can catch her in her lie, but she's still a Career, and I would rather not get on her bad side. Or even have her take any notice of me.

The boy looks at me and laughs coldly. "See, Brooke? No one will believe it happened in 2. We're too close to the Capitol."

Brooke turns to me again, and says through gritted teeth, "I know how to make her believe me."

The boy looks sick. "Brooke, let her be. Let her be happy for a little longer."

_What could she possibly say that would make this situation even worse? _For a second, I am afraid she is going to hurt me, but then why would the boy be so pale? Careers, _especially_ those from 2, are notorious for being ruthless killers. That's the scariest part. Something has these killers terrified, and I'm about to find out what.

"It's the Quell," says Brooke. "In 2, it leaked out what the Quell challenge will be." She pauses. Her hands are shaking-_with anger? Or fear? _ "In my district, there are usually lists of people who want to volunteer to compete for the glory of winning the Games. Once they found out what the Quell was, though, they all withdrew. For the first time in decades, they had to draw names." She looks over at the boy almost sympathetically, but he just scowls back.

"They drew my name first," she continues in a hush. "Then they drew Curt's 12-year-old brother." She is now almost in tears, a shocking display of humanity from a Career tribute, especially directed at me, from the furthest outlying district of them all. "He volunteered for his brother, but it doesn't matter... It couldn't change anything. Now his brother is on his own. Their father died years ago, and his mother... That's the twist. For the Quell, they're... They're..." She chokes on a jagged sob, unable to continue. All of the emotional shields she had built up with her angry scowl have fallen, and here before me she is falling to pieces.

Curt looks my way, and his eyes are hollow and dead. "They're sending the parents in with us. We have to kill our parents if we want to survive." Then he walks over to Brooke, takes her arm, and they step aside as the remainder of the tributes stream into the room.

Standing aside from the rest of them, I feel my world shatter into a million pieces.

* * *

**Sooooo... You asked, and I gave it to you. Earlier than I was going to too! Ignorance is bliss sometimes, but don't worry. This is going to be more emotionally draining for me than it will be for you.**

**Shoutout to xxxRimaxxx who I'm pretty sure guessed all of this stuff ages ago based on their review. If you also guessed the Quell twist, congrats. You're cool. **

**More to come! ~Fancyclopedia.**


	16. Anchor Me Down

Shell-shocked, I stand numb in my boots as the other tributes flow into the room. Even when the trainer announces that we may begin for the morning, I am unable to leave the spot I stood in when my already screwed up life got tossed in a blender (a luxury item we have in our suite that Capitol citizens use to crush fruit). The trainer walks up to me. "You waitin' for somethin' 12? Get a move on!" I'm thinking that I will just stay in this place forever until I can go back in time to before I knew.

_There's no way they would do this. Surely even the Capitol knows that this is wrong wrong wrong. _"Prim! What're you doing standing around? Let's get started!"

Jace is pulling me towards some activity, but I am too scared. _She doesn't know... _I think wistfully, wishing myself back to my own blissful ignorance. I am so scared, too scared to even acknowledge within my own head. I picture Awren's father, and I know he would die for his son. _But they are so close, and it would break either to lose the other. _ I'm going to cry, this is so much worse than being reaped in the first place. This is 24 times worse. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can feel them redden, already betraying my tears.

"Prim!"_ Jace again._ My only friend in this hell is little comfort against the fresh horrors I've been privy to. "What's going on? C'mon! Let's get started_!" How can I move though? How can I train when my mother will lose her life with me? Sacrificing my life for Awren's was all good before this, but now? What can I do? My own mother. My Own Mother. _Looking around, I can't stop the fat, hot, miserable tears from pouring down my face. I cry for my mother. I cry for Awren's father. I cry for the parents of Jace, and Daz, and Cynth. _Oh no._ Fresh sobs wrack my wretched body as I realize that Daz and Cynth, already doomed by the worst of odds, will lose both of their parents to the arena as well as each other. _Or worse, what if only one parent came? What if there is still someone at home, watching their family be slaughtered hundreds of miles away?_

People are staring. I think some of the outliers might be showing sypathy, but even through my tear-blurred eyes I can see the contempt on the faces of the Career tributes. Except for Brooke. She just looks over at me with all of that pain and loss already in her eyes. Someone who loves her parents, and knows that she can never be happy with them again. _The whole point of winning was that we could go home to our families, to normal. Before, I could lie to myself and say that soon I would be safe at home just like before. Now what's the point? Why fight? Why? There's nothing to return to, nothing to win for, nothing nothing nothing nothing._ "What's the point?"

Silence. I hadn't meant to yell that out loud, but it burst from my lips and now that it's out there, there's no taking it back. Everyone in the room is looking at me. Their eyes are blank, ignorant if not outright innocent. They don't know.

I turn and walk out the door without another word. There is no point. We are all going to die, and I am not going to spend my last days learning useless skills that might prolong my inevitable death. As I leave the training room, Jace takes my hand and walks out with me, without questioning. Funny how fast friendships can form in the Hunger Games.

* * *

We go to the roof, _where else? _This is where I feel safest, and I want to share the safety with Jace. Up here, it's like the Capitol can't see me, and I can hide Jace and myself here forever so that I will never have to watch her find out what they are going to put us through. I need to grab Awren too, and Daz, and Cynth. While I'm at it, I might as well save Brooke and Curt too. I can hide all 24 of us up here, and all of our families. Put us all in a bubble where the Games and the Capitol are just a bad dream.

"You don't even know why I ran away," I say to Jace, blubbering the words through the relentless onslaught of tears. Why did she follow me up here? I know we're supposedly friends, but she should be training. I want her to have a chance.

"It doesn't matter," she says, and she gives me her big, beautiful, sad smile. My heart breaks for this girl, this strong, kind girl who has been thrown into this horrible place. _How is she so calm when the world is falling apart?_

"You don't know…" I say. "The Games are worse."

"I do know," she says. "I don't know what yet, but it's a Quell. They have to make it more dramatic for the audience, and that always means more pain for us. I don't know how you found out what it is, but you should tell me. Share it with me, and I can help you carry the pain."

_I want to tell you. Oh I do! _But I can't. I can't say those awful words out loud. I can't. I can't. I can't. "No," I say. Because I can't let Jace break too. I need her.

"That's okay too." She whispers. "Come here, Prim." Jace opens her arms and wraps them around me, in a tight, warm hug. Her embrace anchors me to the Earth, and keeps me from sinking into the pain again. Jace saves me, and I know that there is no way I can return the favor.

* * *

**Jace is just the best. Kind of a dark chapter with a fluffy-ish end. You all are probably hating me right now, and laughing because that wasn't even close to fluff, but for this story (sorry guys) that was one of the fluffiest chapters you're going to get.****It all depends though... I'm still not sure where I want to take the Prim/Jace relationship yet. **

**If you can battle through the depressedness, I hope you are still enjoying this! Thanks ever so much if you haven't abandoned this fic already, and I hope to hear from you in the reviews! ~~ Fancyclopedia**


End file.
